The Liger Plague (Book 1) (2 page)

He sped recklessly along Longwood Avenue, barreling through intersections as he searched for his cell phone. Utilizing the car’s Bluetooth, he hit the talk button, called out the number, and waited for a response, but heard nothing except the depressing sound of a dial tone. Cars jutted out in front of him, causing him to swerve around them and pound the steering wheel in frustration. Why wasn’t his wife picking up her phone? His daughter’s iPhone had recently broken, and she’d been forced to use her tablet in order to communicate. Entering her junior year at Colby College, she was spending the summer taking classes in Paris but had come home for a week to take part in Cooke’s annual Art Festival.

The cold rushed in and filled the Jeep with chilled air. He raced along Brookline Avenue until he reached Storrow Drive, swerving in and out of the busy, two-lane traffic. The angry beeps of the other cars competed with the sound of the humming air conditioner. To his left flowed the murky Charles River. To his right rose the old brick buildings comprising Beacon Hill. He charged up the long, gradual bridge leading to Route 93. Once he moved over to the left lane, he punched the gas and headed straight to Portland, Maine, and to where the ferries carried passengers over to Cooke’s Island.

He tried calling his wife again but still got no reply. The worst-case scenario crossed his mind, and for a second he debated defying the caller’s instructions and calling the authorities. The computer-generated voice over the phone had been unrecognizable. He racked his mind, trying to remember each and every person that had attended the conference. There must have been well over a hundred scientists in attendance, and although he knew most of them, he certainly didn’t know them all. He’d always known that his line of work was dangerous, fearing for the wellbeing of his family more than himself, but that was for entirely different reasons. And yet he knew he had to allow his family to live their own lives as free and uninhibited as possible.

The liger
.

What had the caller meant by that? He knew that a liger was a combination of a lion and tiger, two of the fiercest hunters in the animal kingdom. Was it a metaphor for something else? Where had he heard that term before? He tried to recall the term liger and its significance in literature and art. Two of the most dangerous animals paired to create a unique hybrid. And the caller specifically mentioned that it could only be done in captivity.

Then he remembered where he’d heard it. There was a local author on Cooke’s Island who’d penned a popular children’s book called
Lenny the Liger
, which sat front and center in the window of Cooke’s Island Books. It had been one of their best sellers, and even his kids had read it when they were little.

He swerved dangerously into the middle lane and then cut back over to the left. Cars behind him honked and flashed their high beams, but he didn’t give a shit about any of that now. All he could think about was his family.

They’d owned the vacation home on Cooke’s Island for fifteen years now. It had been the perfect place to relax and unwind after many long, grueling months performing in the hot lab. Back in the early days, when he’d been dissecting human and primate corpses, and dealing with the most lethal viruses known to man, a vacation home such as the one they had on Cooke’s had been a godsend. It hadn’t been cheap, but it had been worth every penny, and its value had increased significantly throughout the years.

A frightening thought occurred to him as he crossed onto Route 95, sending shockwaves of panic through his system. He thought he understood now the meaning of the liger. It was a metaphor for a hybrid virus. Why hadn’t he made that connection before? An engineered, hybrid virus that didn’t occur naturally in nature but was engineered in a lab. Only under such controlled conditions could a sophisticated organism like that be created. Had that lunatic unleashed a killer virus on the island? And a hybrid virus to boot?

His hand trembled on the steering wheel. The caller claimed that he or she had been in the building at the same time as he was. It meant that the person was either known to him or someone with a well-known reputation in the scientific field. Only a person with such esoteric knowledge and skills could possibly even hope to engineer a lethal hybrid virus, and there were only a handful of people in the world that possessed such capabilities. He reminded himself to call Simon and get his hands on the list of attendees to the conference, including that reporter who’d asked that unusual question.

Panic gripped him as he weaved between the cars. Cooke’s Island was located roughly four miles from downtown Portland and was home to just under one thousand residents. At this time of year, however, the island population swelled to nearly seven thousand people. The ferries ran like clockwork on the hour, shuffling people back and forth. If a lethal virus had already been released on Cooke’s, and he prayed that it hadn’t, it meant that many people would be transporting the organism to the mainland or vice versa. If that were the case, why would the caller have warned him ahead of time?

His phone rang, and the sound of it caused him to jump back in his seat in fear. Something bright flashed in his mirror and caught his eye. He looked in the rearview and saw a state trooper following him, the trooper’s lights flashing and its siren blaring. Tag banged on the steering wheel in frustration as he continued to dodge and weave through the heavy traffic heading up to Maine for the weekend. He hit the speaker button and answered the call.

“How are you, Colonel?” the computer-enhanced voice asked.

“Screw you!”

“Tsk, tsk. You should try to be a good boy because I’m your only hope for saving that poor wife and pretty daughter of yours.”

“Sorry for my bad manners, asshole, but I’m currently being pursued by the state police.”

“That’s too bad. I can understand your tendency for a lead foot, though. I suggest you keep driving, Colonel, because I may not be calling back. Besides, with your long list of credentials you should easily be able to talk yourself out of a ticket. And for the sake of your wife and daughter, you had better,” the altered voice said, laughing.

“What kind of organism are we dealing with?”

“Very good, Colonel. Your powers of deduction rival Holmes’.”

“What do you want from me? Are my wife and daughter okay?”

“Whoa! Slow down. So many questions and so little time. Now take a deep breath and listen.”

The state trooper followed on his tail. He cut to the far right lane and swerved around traffic. Then he accelerated laterally to the fast lane and raced ahead. In his rearview mirror he saw the trooper’s vehicle wedged between some slow-moving cars. He knew he wouldn’t escape the trooper, but he had at least bought himself a few more minutes.

“Wow! Those pigs are right behind you. I can hear sirens.”

“Tell me what you want me to do!”

“Okay, here’s the deal. That liger I delivered to your island is caged and pacing back and forth. He’s hungry, Colonel, and dying to get out and roam that gorgeous island.”

“You haven’t released it yet?” Tag said, his hopes rising. “Let’s negotiate a deal and maybe we can work this out. I didn’t catch your name, caller.”

“Call me Lenny the Liger.” The voice laughed. “There’s no negotiating anything now, Colonel. The virus will be released today with or without you. Your wife is exiting the ferry as we speak, carrying a package delivered to her and to be opened this afternoon at the opening ceremony of the Cooke’s Island Art Fest. In fact, I can see her now walking off the terminal with package in hand.”

“How can you see her? I thought you said you were in the reception area back at Gordon Hall?”

“Have you forgotten that Cooke’s Island has webcams stationed all over it, continually filming live footage of all that is going on? Supposed to be part of some scientific experiment to follow and track some rare ocean bird. This will be the greatest reality show in the history of mankind.”

“What about the package?” Tag said, noticing that the speedometer was nearing one hundred. Three state troopers were behind him now.

“She’s going to open that box once she reaches the Art Fest. When she does, she’s going to release our famished cat, and it will bound into the air, liberated from its claustrophobic confines.”

Tag felt nauseous and could barely keep the Jeep on the road. He struggled to keep his composure and not say something that he might regret.

“I know you’re worried, Colonel, but trust me when I tell you it’s too late to save those people already on the island. It’s not, however, too late to save your wife and daughter. Sure, you can try to call the Art Fest, but I doubt they’ll listen to you. And if you do stop it from happening, I’ll just release the virus in a major metropolis for shits and kicks, and kill many more people. Maybe the entire nation. So you decide what you want to do.”

“I’m supposed to decide between saving my family and saving millions of people I don’t even know?”

“Oh no, I’m not that cruel,” Lenny said, laughing. “I’m going to give you a real fighting chance to save your family. Look in the backseat of your Jeep, and you’ll see a small cooler. Inside it, I’ve placed an antibody that will block the virus from being able to synthesize with the target cell. I suggest you take it before you make your way onto that island, and the sooner, the better.”

Tag turned back and saw the small red cooler and wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. Grasping it by the handle, he picked it up and put it on the passenger seat next to him. The troopers continued to tail him, their lights flashing and sirens screaming. He pressed the white release button and slid open the cover. Keeping his eye on the road in front of him, he reached inside and pulled out the single test tube filled with vaccine.

“Okay, I have it. I suppose this could be a trap.”

“You’ll have to trust me when I tell you that I really want you to save Monica and Taylor’s lives. Besides, killing you is the last thing I want to do. It would defeat my purpose.”

He removed the stopper, stared at it for a second before downing the liquid. It had a slightly bitter taste but otherwise went down easily.

“It’s done.”

“Smart choice. And good luck with the pigs. I suppose you can figure the rest out on your own.”

“The rest of what?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you? You’re going to need to quarantine that island before people start taking this beautiful creature back to the mainland. That means finding a way to halt the ferries once you get there, and not a second too soon. Then you’ll need to barricade those pretty girls of yours inside that house overlooking the ocean. Because once the liger is released, the radio frequency of a single cell phone call will have the potential to activate the second component of this organism. And when that happens, that island party is going to get all wild and crazy.”

“What’s going to happen then?”

“For me to know and for you to find out.” The caller laughed. “Get your girls in a safe place, and make sure that none of the infected leave that island or else you’ll jeopardize the entire country.”

“It really is a hybrid virus, then?”

“This liger is a rare and beautiful creature that loves to swim, Colonel. You should be very proud of what I’ve created. Or at least impressed with the craftsmanship of our trade.” The line went dead.

Chapter 2

“Maine Ferry System,” he barked into the Bluetooth, pressing down on the gas as he approached the New Hampshire toll booth.

The phone dialed until he heard the ringtone. Every toll booth had a line of cars waiting to pay. He steered the Jeep towards the E-Z Pass lane, where cars whizzed past without stopping. Swerving hard to the left, he cut off an eighteen-wheeler and accelerated to the far lane. Then he cut the wheel to the right and navigated the turn through the narrow booth, but not before scraping the side of his Jeep alongside the partition.

A recorded voice came on the line, and he was given a menu to choose from. Instead of listening to all the options, he asked for the operator, and the menu stopped. A few seconds passed, and then a live voice came over the line.

“It’s extremely urgent that I speak with the executive director of the Maine ferries.”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“My name is Colonel Taggert Winters of the United States Army. I need him to temporarily cease all ferry service to Cooke’s Island before something terrible happens.”

“Please hold, sir.”

Looking in the rearview mirror, he saw that he was now being followed by four troopers. Up ahead, he observed another traffic jam forming. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Kenny G. played sax over the phone, exacerbating his bad mood.

“Hurry up and answer the damn phone!” he yelled into the receiver.

He slowed down before arriving at the traffic jam and whipped the wheel as hard as he could, smashing and plowing his way over to the far left-hand lane. The troopers behind him tried to follow but got caught in the logjam with nowhere to turn. Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ started playing over the Bluetooth. He gripped the wheel and gunned the Jeep onto the grassy median strip separating the northbound from southbound lanes, and careened over to 95 south. Fortunately, traffic was light heading southbound, and the cars that managed to see him quickly cut over to the middle lane to avoid being struck. Keeping his eyes glued to the oncoming traffic, he stayed as far to the right on 95 as possible in case he had to swerve away at the last moment.

“This is David Dodd, executive director of the Maine Turnpike,” came the voice. “This had better be a goddamn emergency, or I’m going to be very upset.”

“Colonel Winters, chief of the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. Sir, I need you to shut down the ferry system to Cooke’s Island immediately. I believe there’s a potentially infectious disease circulating on the island as we speak,” he said, struggling to control the vehicle through oncoming traffic.

“Colonel, I’m vacationing on the island right now, and I can assure you that life here on Cooke’s could be no finer.”